today is  named after avalanches,
accumulating up the thick snow
on televisions and
bad language slipping from our
basement convictions.
sometimes we gotta burn them down
instead of holding them up to
let the animal instincts feast.
even if it is love,
like loose change and
lopsided grins,
just begging for a nickel to
maybe get our secrets straight.
or even for the sheets full of ghosts,
phantoms that hold still
when all you want to do is keep
running.
sometimes, even when we sprint,
we aren't fast enough to
explode the truth from our twisted tendons
and stressed in ligaments.
and when we finally cremate the last of our
silhouettes that kept biting at the
frostbitten hills of our familiar perimeter,
all we can do is wish to go back
to the days when the snow
could cover our tracks
instead.